


A Wounded Heart

by wingedbears



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Academia, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - World War II, Don't copy to another site, F/F, Historical Accuracy, Love Letters, M/M, Mexican Imagery & Symbolism, Nosy Rey, Veteran Cassian Andor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 23:57:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedbears/pseuds/wingedbears
Summary: When Rey finds love letters written by her neighbor, she begins to dig deeper into his past.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A major shoutout to anyone and everyone that helped me with this fic! fallsouthwinter, thepilot, misskatieleigh, and pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome

1977

Binghamton, New York

Rey is leaning over while driving and tuning the radio in her truck. Mostly the needle is on NPR but Rose was in the car and cranked it to some top forty station. The dial is a little longer than her arm reach, so she’s just peering over the top of the steering wheel and furiously twisting to get back to public radio. 

Rey has absolutely nothing against top forty. It’s fun, it’s catchy, but she’s heard “Convoy” one too many times, thank you. She is a scholar. A research librarian. A reporter. Rey wears a lot of hats, but the one she’s most proud of is that of a reporter. Sure, it’s for the school paper, sure, it’s not paid, but dammit, she likes doing it. 

The familiar tones of Robert Conley take over and Rey straightens up in her seat only to have to slam on her brakes. There’s an older woman crossing the street, tottering across the walk. Rey presses her lips together and watches as the woman finishes crossing the road and drives off again. There are certain drawbacks to living in First Ward, and the older people are one of them. They’re not all bad, naturally. And the rent is cheaper. But it almost (almost) makes Rey miss being in the dorms. 

Binghamton’s campus slowly appears, the streets houses turning into buildings, structures with lawns and statues. There’s a low fog over the town today, and it sets Rey into a curious and suspicious mood. It’s almost like a horror film, but everyone Rey passes is so pleasant and smiling, Rey can’t help but be affected. She walks into the library, and tosses a greeting to Finn. 

“Hey Rey,” Finn says distracted by his book. He’s an undergrad still, but he’s in the process to start grad school next year. 

“Still contemplating Plato?” she asks, leaning over the counter. 

“Contemplating how much of a dumbass he was? Always.” Finn looks up. “We got some new stuff in, the library made a bid on an auction for some World War Two stuff.”

Rey’s eyes widen. “No,” she gasps. 

Finn laughs. “I knew you’d like that. The stuff’s in the preservation room,” he says, jabbing a thumb behind him, a few yards away.

Rey absolutely doesn’t run to the preservation room. She drops all her belongings right outside the door and knocks furiously. Professor Organa looks up, and smirks. She crooks a finger for Rey to come in.

Rey follows the procedure, rolling up her sleeves, washing her hands, and pulling on the gloves and the mask. “What did you bid on?” Rey asks, trying to be as still as she can be, practically vibrating. She darts a look out the window, where Finn is looking at her, smiling.

“Oh, this and that,” Organa says. 

Rey waits. 

“Some maps, some personal effects, but most importantly and most exciting of all…” Organa sets a box on the table. It’s old and metal, obviously from the war, and Organa unclasps the locks. She opens the box, a little more dramatically than Rey thinks the occasion calls for, and Rey peers in, not caring about her coolness factor. That went out the window long ago. 

“Letters!” Rey says. 

“Letters,” Organa confirms, and Rey turns to look out the window and waves at Finn. 

“Letters,” she mouths, pointing at the box.

Finn looks at her askance, then laughs. “I can’t see what you’re saying, Rey, you’ve got a mask on.” It comes through a little muffled, but Rey frowns. Stupid mask.

“I want you,” Organa continues as though Rey isn’t trying to sign through the window what’s in the box. “To catalogue these, and clean them,” she finishes. “Enjoy,” she says, and leaves Rey in the room. As soon as Organa’s imposing and small figure exits to her office, Rey grabs a pen and scribbles down “letters!!” and places it up against the window, knocking on the glass to get Finn’s attention.

Finn turns, rolling his eyes, but then reads the missive, eyes widening. “That’s so cool!” he says. 

Rey nods, and then turns back to the table. She looks at the box and its contents. Best place to start, by cleaning. She gently pulls the letters out of its box, and pulls out the mixture and the swabs, and gets to work. She catches a few words here and there, but mostly fixes on the water stains, the dirt compiled, the fragility of the letters’ creases. The thing she catches the most, is that the letters are only addressed to “My Beloved,” and are all signed by “Cassian”. Rey pauses at this, but carries on in her project, dabbing and swabbing and air drying. There are thirty letters in total, spanning over what appears to be two and a half years. Rey frowns, looking up from her task, wanting desperately to rub her eyes but refraining because of the gloves. She looks at the clock. It’s an hour past lunchtime, so her body immediately tunes in and her stomach growls. 

Rey sighs and puts her tools away, letting the letters to continue drying. She’s not going far, after all. She goes out to her bags, still rumpled in a pile next to the door. She rifles through the bookbag for her signature baloney and tomato sandwich with what Rose insists is too much mayo, but what does Rose know?

Rey walks out of the library and sits on the ground next to the wall. It’s not necessarily the sandwich making her sad, of course. It’s Rose.

Rose, who is Rey’s roommate. Rose, who Rey is undeniably in love with. Rey hits her head on the brick wall behind her and purses her lips. 

Rey often wondered as a child what it meant to be in love, and what it might look like when she grew up. Little did she know it would look like rooming with someone that wakes her up with coffee just the way she likes it. Or someone fixing her truck and teasing her for letting it go so long. Or someone who often wore t-shirts and no pants and painted and would smile til her eyes squeezed together and her nose crinkled. Someone with amazing legs. Someone who tucked Rey’s hair behind her ears and kissed her cheek and listened to Rey talk about boring things like World War Two letters. That someone was Rose. 

Rose is Rey’s someone. 

Unfortunately, Rose is oblivious to Rey’s feelings. And Rey doesn’t know how to bring it up without scaring Rose. Or hurting her. 

How does one tell their roommates that they’re in love with them? Rey’s best plan so far was this: graduate, move to a city far away, call Rose from a payphone, confess her love and then move to another city just to be safe. It wasn’t a good plan, per se, but it was what Rey has. Rey bites into her sandwich and drinks her Tab and adjusts her eyes to the larger world, not miniscule spots on letters from thirty years ago. 

The world comes into focus just as her lunch break is up and she rises, brushing off her jeans and stretching. She takes a moment to watch all the students streaming into the library through the fog, the last fifteen minutes of the hour is a shuffle of all students getting from one place to another. 

Rey thinks they must be living their best lives. Rey is living hers, almost.

She heads back into the library and bypasses the circulation desk -- sophomores on work study -- and goes back to the conservation room. She goes through the rigamarole again, and this time, well for the next hour, can work on the letters.

This time she photocopies them, bringing them to the huge xerox machine and letting the light slowly scan and print out copies of the letters. By the time she’s done with that task, it’s almost time to go home. 

She puts the letters up, and then complies her photocopies into a manila folder. The name Cassian niggles in her brain, and she needs to know for sure if it’s who she thinks it is. She didn’t think to look at the other affects, or to ask Professor Organa where she got them. She bought stuff at auctions all the time, and it didn’t mean it was from a local source. But if it was, then the only Cassian she knows is Cassian Andor, her upstairs neighbor. She doesn’t know much about him, other than he’s nice enough to bring down tupperwares of food for her and Rose occasionally, chilaquiles and tamales, and one time mole sauce. He always claims he’s made too much, but Mr. Andor doesn’t really strike him as the type to accidentally do something or make mistakes, but he does seem the sort to be purposeful.

Rose returns the favor by taking care of his car, without asking, which involves Mr. Andor coming out to Rose underneath the car. She changes the oil or just listens to the engine, sometimes. Rose kept coming up to ask for his car keys, but now they just have a key themselves that he copied so she can help whenever. 

Rey doesn’t feel she has much to contribute, but she comes up occasionally to his door and leaves library books she finds interesting. The result of these actions means there’s more food, and Rose and Rey have to find other ways to help out, like yard work (and if there was ever a time Rey thought she might not be queer, it only took one look at Rose’s arms; sweaty and soft for Rey to solidify the idea) or ramen meals. Rey doesn’t know if Mr. Andor actually eats the ramen, but he always thanks them, and now it’s gotten to the point where he’s invited them over for Thanksgiving. 

Rose is looking forward to it- her sister and parents are in Chicago, and a Greyhound ticket isn’t exactly cheap- but Rey thinks it’s another Thanksgiving without a family. She’s out of the system now, it shouldn’t matter, but a family is all Rey really wants sometimes. 

So when the library acquires letters from an auction with the name Cassian on them, Rey has to wonder. The letters ride in the front seat on the way home with her, and she darts from the car to the front door, eager to dig into the letters. 

She hasn’t read them. Not yet. But the anticipation has been building all day, the need to divulge thrilling her. She’s done her best to keep her eyes off the letters, but now she can sit down and read them. 

Rose isn’t home yet, so Rey throws her backpack and jacket on the floor and sits down on her bed and opens the manila envelope. She takes the copies out, the pleasant shh of them preceding the enjoyment of the evening. 

Rey starts reading.

_My Beloved_ , it starts, and then the words flow out like aching points, hard sentiments followed by pleas of a returning letter, or the wish to see Beloved again, how beautiful Beloved is - sweet and strong in turns. 

Rey puts the letter down. It feels like she wrote this for Rose. Her heart aches at the irony. 

Love letters, Cassian was writing love letters to an unknown individual in 1945. His Beloved. 

Rey looks over the first one again. If this is Mr. Andor’s, then Rey has no business reading the rest of them. It’s too personal for Rey to know. 

Rey feels the twinge of guilt for reading them in the first place, but also wonders why Mr. Andor let them go. Why would he sell love letters to an auction house?

Rey bites her lip and considers this. She hears the latch of the door give, and the footsteps that follow come up to her door are Rose’s. She’d recognize them anywhere. 

Rose knocks.

“Hey, come on in!” Rey calls. Rose opens the door, the weight of the wood does most of the work for her. 

“How was your day?” Rose asks, tucking hair behind her ears. Rey wants to do that for her, but hesitates in the motion.

“Good! The library just bid on these letters I’m cataloging. Come here, check this out,” she says, beckoning Rose to sit on Rey’s bed. 

Rose plops down and looks at the sheets of paper spread over the bed, one jammed under her thigh that she’s sitting on. She leans to the side and pulls it out before looking at it. 

“They’re love letters,” Rey says, seeing the confusion on Rose’s face. Rey bites her lip. “And I think the person who wrote them lives upstairs.”

Rose’s eyes widen at this. “Mr. Andor?” she asks, baffled. “But why would he sell these? Why are you reading them?” Rose asks in a high pitched voice, frantically shuffling the papers together and snatching the one out of Rey’s hand. 

“They’re public record as soon as I clean them, Rose. Everyone can read them.”

“Well they don’t know Mr. Andor personally!” Rose says. She frowns, quiet for a moment. “I just don’t want him to be embarrassed.”

“It’s Cassian. He’s biologically unable to be embarrassed.”

Rose frowns even deeper.

“You just want to read them!” Rose accuses. Rightly.

“I already read one?” Rey says sheepishly.

“Rey!” Rose says, exasperated. 

“I was curious! And I don’t really know if they belong to Cassian or not. It’s just… highly probable that they do.”

Rose looks at her flatly.

Rey sighs and throws her hands up. “Okay, so they belong to him. But he sold them to an auction house!”

“Probably because he needed the money, or worse - didn’t want to think of his lover.”

“I don’t think that they had sex. I mean, it doesn’t read that way?”

“Yes, oh knowledgeable one. Just, let him know that you know, you know?” Rose says. Her eyes are big and brown and Rey cannot refuse her anything.

Rey slumps over on the bed. “Okay! After dinner. What’s tonight?”

“Wednesday. Ramen.”

“Well, better get to it. Ramen waits for no woman.”

“Of course ramen does, it’s what it’s made for.”

“It’s made for broke people like us.”

 

The ramen is savory and the egg alongside it is delicious, but it feels sour in her stomach as she rounds the house and walks up the outside stairs in the cold to knock on Cassian’s door. She waits a moment, jittery. She bites her lip and knocks again. Cassian is in, his car is on the street. “Mr. Andor!” she calls. 

The door opens, and Mr. Andor blinks at her. He’s without his ever present blazer, and his hair is not slicked back. Maybe Rey is used to seeing him outside of his apartment. He looks surprised and confused to see her there, but opens the door to let her in. 

“Did you need something, Rey?” he asks as he leads her to the living room.

“Um, yes? No. I -” Rey blinks and rocks from side to side in indecision. “I found something today at the library. And I think they’re yours.” She slides the manila envelope from underneath her arm and hands it over to Cassian. 

He looks even more confused, and opens the envelope and peers inside, understanding and weariness crossing his face like a shutter closing. He looks tired. 

“Yes, these belonged to me,” he says. He hands the envelope back. “Is that all?”

“That’s it?” Rey asks, incredulous. “You write something soulful and meaningful and you sell it and give it away?”

“They are not meant for me, they’re addressed to someone else. They obviously never got there, why should I keep them?” Mr. Andor turns, and starts walking to the kitchen, dismissing Rey entirely without shoving her out. And Rey who knows that there’s boundaries that she’s flying by, can’t help but toe the line again. Step over the line in the sand. 

She walks into the kitchen, angry and confused.

Cassian is setting up a kettle on the stove, turning the knob and Rey hears the familiar click click whoosh of gas flipping on. 

“You’re making tea?” Rey asks, still angry. 

“Would you like some?” Cassian asks, opening a cabinet and pulling a box down. 

“No, I want answers!” Rey says. “I need to know who this was, who you were, and why.”

Cassian sighs, and pulls out two mugs, making tea anyway for her. “You don’t need to know these things Rey.”

“Okay, I want to know.”

“What good would it do?” Mr. Andor turns, his face split in anger and sadness. Despair. “Why do you want to know old memories that never mattered?”

Rey steadies herself, sticks her chin out. “If they never mattered, you wouldn’t be so angry.”

Cassian rubs a hand over his face. “Rey, please,” he says. “I’m asking you to back off.”

Rey hesitates, but nods. “Okay.”

Cassian squints at her. Raises his brows. “You’re not just saying that?”

Rey looks down and to the left. “No.”

Cassian blasts out a sigh. “Rey, you’re a good kid,” he says, and that’s probably the most hurtful thing he’s ever said to her; the most dismissive. Like she’s some other college kid in town, like she’s just another twenty something he doesn’t have patience for. “But I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Rey says to the linoleum floor. “I just, I feel the same way. About someone.” She looks up, and Mr. Andor is looking at her with understanding. “And I just, I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Milk or sugar?” Mr. Andor asks quietly, his tenor overtaken by the whistle of the kettle. He turns and pours two cups and dunks the tea bags in. 

“Milk, thank you,” Rey says softly. 

Cassian goes to the icebox and pulls out the bottle of milk, pouring a little into a creamer pot, and before placing it back and carrying the tea tray out to the living room. 

Mr. Andor waits for Rey to sit, and she does, on the couch next to an old recliner, well worn from use. He sits in his chair and lets her pour her milk and he picks his cup up and cradles it. The silence between them is tense. Rey is pushing for something, and Mr. Andor, doesn’t feel comfortable with it. Rey should stop. She should apologize again. 

“Sorry for pushing you,” Rey says, this time looking at Cassian. 

Cassian gives a quick smile, and Rey can objectively see why the ladies at the store titter when he shops there. He’s handsome, crinkles at his eyes, dark hair streaked with gray at his temples and on his beard, large steady hands. He has a nice smile. 

“It is alright,” he says.

Rey is about to insist it’s not, but Mr. Andor holds up a hand. “I pushed too. You’re not… another kid.”

Rey relaxes at this, smiles. 

Mr. Andor clears his throat. “This person you love,” he licks his lips. “You don’t know what to do?”

Rey nods.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help. This person,” he nods at the envelope, “was my last. And it was 1945. So, I’m a little rusty in the romance department.”

Rey draws her brows together. “You wrote them in 1947.”

Cassian blinks, then nods. “Thirty years ago,” he says almost disbelieving. He huffs a dry laugh. “You would think I’d move on.”

Rey shakes her head, her eyes wide. “I won’t, why would you? You found your someone. I did, I think. I mean, I don’t know if they feel the same way.” She takes a sip of tea to steady herself.

Mr. Andor nods. “I will tell you part of it, about them.”

Rey nods, trying to not be overly enthusiastic.


	2. Chapter 2

1944

Manila, Philippines

Cassian is standing on the beach, the only one he could find through all the rubble that wasn’t utterly destroyed by bombing. Aside from all the destroyers offshore bringing in more soldiers, more weapons, bullets from bacon grease, it’s peaceful. 

Cassian needs to get back to base. They’ll run the colors soon, and then all the boys on the base will want to hit up the local village, the local girls welcoming and kind. But, a boat appears where there wasn’t one before, a Chinese junk ship, it’s red sails bright in the sun, a target, even. But it’s a fisherman’s boat, and a figure pulls out of the water with a bucket onto the ship and studies the contents of the pail. The ship slowly is being pulled into shore, the currents and wind pushing the junk across the water to Cassian. 

Cassian keeps his eyes on the figure. He has long hair, with goggles on, a knife attached to his arm. His chest is glimmering in the sun, pants sticking to his thighs. Cassian for a brief and delirious moment wonders if merpeople exist, or if this is a siren leading him to his death. He’d gladly go. 

Cassian sticks his hands in his pants and watches the man watching him, and then, the man gets up and pulls on a rope. Cassian thinks that’s the last he’ll see of this figure, the last of the sea angel. But the sail flaps, concave suddenly, and the ship sails onto the sand, a shushing sound of wood on sand.

The stranger smiles at him and pulls something out of the bucket and walks towards Cassian. Cassian’s breath feels caught, or stolen by the wind. 

The man pulls the knife strapped to his arm off and slices an oyster open, and looks inside, his lips ticking down a little at the meat. He slices the meat off and looking at Cassian, slurps it into his mouth. 

The man offers a second one to Cassian.

Cassian nods, unwilling to let seafood stop him from time with this man, even if it looks unappetizing in every way. 

The stranger cracks open the shell, and his eyes widen. “Of course you would find one,” he says, laughing. He shows Cassian the oyster, a large golden pearl in the oyster. His voice is accented, different from anything Cassian’s heard, parts of it sound British, like Kay back at base, but Cassian doesn’t know what the other ninety percent of it is.

“You can keep it,” Cassian offers the pearl to Bodhi. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.” He picks up the pearl from the membrane and offers it to the man.

He smiles and shakes his head. “It’s good luck,” he says, like it’s an old joke between them. Cassian can’t help but be mesmerized by the way this man looks at him, like Cassian is something new and wonderful, like the gemstone in his hand. “Here, eat the oyster,” he says, and slices the membrane from the shell and hands it to Cassian.

Cassian grimaces, but copies the man’s movements and sucks the oyster’s meat up, making a terrible slurping noise. Cassian swallows it whole, but he must be making a face, because the man is smiling brightly at him. “That’s awful,” Cassian says, coughing. “It tastes like spit.”

“Yes, they’re quite gross,” he replies, still smiling. “But it’s good for you.”

“I don’t see how,” Cassian says, throwing the empty shell into the waves. It is swallowed by the sea. 

“I’m Bodhi,” the man says, sticking out a hand in greeting.

“Cassian,” Cassian says, taking Bodhi’s hand and shaking it. “Captain Andor, 201st squadron, Mexico.

“Mexico,” Bodhi breathes. “I didn’t know you guys were over here.”

Cassian shrugs, feeling the weight of being so far from home. “We’re the only overseas unit for our country. We just got in from Texas.”

“Boot camp?” “Hell of a time,” Cassian says, half of a joke that falls flat. “Well, welcome to ‘over there’,” Bodhi says. He looks thoughtful, almost daydreaming while looking at Cassian. 

Cassian stands a little straighter. “Thank you,” he says.

Bodhi waves, a goodbye, and heads back to his boat. Cassian watches his form, and he desperately wants to see Bodhi again, forever, and Cassian is nearly feverish with the thought.

“Wait,” Cassian calls, the word out before he can even think of the consequences. He runs over easily, the sand’s sinking and pushing familiar thanks to training. “I’m stationed here,” he says when he reaches Bodhi pushing on the boat. Cassian feels young, a boy asking, “Will I see you around?”

Bodhi looks serious for a moment, almost sad. He considers Cassian for a moment, and Cassian wants to change into the person that Bodhi could want. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable at least, a fear that has only now hit Cassian. What if he’s come across too strong? What if it’s painfully obvious that Cassian is different?

“I have a shanty in Manila,” Bodhi says, breaking Cassian from his reverie. “I sell to the higher ups on base. You’ll see me around.”

Cassian smiles. His heart pounds at the thought of seeing Bodhi again. “See you then,” he says, turning and running back to the jungle, back to base. 

1977

Binghamton, New York

“My beloved is Bodhi Rook,” Cassian says. He looks at Rey, like looking down a barrel of a gun. “A man. Do you still want to hear my story?”

Rey nods furiously, eyes wide. Of course. Of course, she wants to know more about his story. To know that Cassian loves a man, that he’s like her, it changes everything.

Cassian looks tired. He sighs. “Come back on Saturdays, I’ll tell you more then.”

Rey reaches into her bag and hands him the copies one more time. “In exchange,” she says. 

Cassian slowly takes them from her, reluctant. 

He sees her out and Rey walks out into the cold and damp night downstairs to the front door. 

Cassian’s beloved is Bodhi Rook. And while Cassian make think that his time is over, there’s something that Rey thinks Cassian is missing. That Bodhi must have written him back, must have done something for Cassian’s affections, his love. So Rey starts planning.

Thanksgiving break is next week, and midterms are just beginning, so the library is more swamped than usual. Rey ducks into the preservation room and starts going through the letters, shuffling them in order of date. 

_My Beloved,_

_I am home, finally home, and yet, I feel so far from it. Everything here has changed. The factory I work at is now Americanized, and since I was trained in Texas, I’m the closest thing to the floor’s average American, so now I’m the Coca Cola Man. Remember the night Chirrut traded me some Coke for three bucks and we drank on the beach? I’ll never forget the way your eyes looked in the moonlight, beloved. I’ll always remember that we talked til dawn, that I quoted poetry to you and your brown eyes gleamed at me. I told you then of Mexico, of my home. But I didn’t know that it’s you, beloved. You are my home._

_Missing you,_

_Cassian_

It was written on August of 1945. Cassian didn’t move to New York straight away, but to Mexico City. Rey peers on the back of the letter. The return address is blurred, and the forwarding address is to B. Rook, Manila, Philippines. Rey has no idea how mail worked back then, but she sees that the letters RTS are on the front. Return to Sender. Curious, Rey looks at all the other envelopes, each with RTS on them. Either Bodhi never got these, or he did, and sent them back.

It’s possible, Rey thinks, that Cassian’s feelings were not returned, that he was projecting. She could try and send them again, but what good would that do? Bodhi could have moved, could have purposefully sent the letters back. What Rey needed to do was find Bodhi’s address, rather than just the island he was on. Rey bites her lip in thought. She’s not sure how to find this guy, but Rey is a research librarian. It’s her job to find stuff. 

Rey finds the directory to the consulates located in New York and then, of course, talks to Professor Organa. Rey finds her in her office, frowning at papers that her T.A. handed her. “You ever want a teaching position Rey, I’ll recommend that you shoot yourself into space.”

“I was wondering if you know anywhere I can find other researchers?”

Leia squints at her. “You’re looking at one.”

“No, I mean, internationally? Like, the Philippines?”

Leia stacks the papers neatly into her out box and clasps her hands together. Her face looks like she doesn’t want to hear what Rey has to say. And Rey didn’t want to bring her too much into this, but it’s for love.

“I don’t know any researchers in the Philippines, no.” Organa gestures to the wooden chair in front of her. “Please, have a seat.”

Rey does so.

“Rey, what is this about?”

“I know who sent the letters.”

“Yes, his name is on some of the effects, Captain Cassian Andor.” Leia looks at her with that infamous piercing gaze. “Why?” She looks like she doesn’t really want the answer but has to ask anyway.

“No, I mean, I know him. Personally.”

Leia frowns. “That’s...unexpected. Is he a relative of yours?”

“No, he’s my neighbor. That doesn’t matter,” Rey says, waving away Leia’s potential follow up questions. “I need to contact the person he was trying to mail the letters to.”

Leia leans back in her chair, a long creak from the chair proceeds Leia’s blustery sigh. “Rey, that’s not part of your job.”

“Call it a hobby.”

“I call it nosy. And not worth getting fired over.”

“I’m not doing this on the university’s time, and everything will come out of my pocket. I just, I want-” Rey doesn’t know how to convey what she wants. She moves information around, she doesn’t act on it. “I want it to have a happy ending.”

“It’s the seventies, Rey. There is no happy ending, that’s why everyone is on acid.”

Rey crosses her arms. It probably makes her look childish, but Rey doesn’t care. “Look, Mr. Andor, he’s…” Rey nervously licks her lips. 

Leia raises her eyebrow, waiting. 

“He means a lot to me, and I want to give something back to him. And I think if I could solve this mystery, then, I don’t know.” 

Leia is quiet for a minute. Then her face softens. “Alright. I know someone in Australia. I should warn you about meddling. But I want to see how this ends too.” Leia pulls out her rolodex and flips until she sees the right name and then scribbles on an index card the information. “Here,” she says, holding it out. “Mon Mothma is the person you want on your side when it comes to researching the South Pacific.”

Rey nods, leans forward, and takes the card.

On Rey’s lunch break over break over another baloney pickle sandwich, she writes to the Philippine consulate in NYC and to Mon Mothma. Her letter is simple, along the lines of a greeting and and asking for information under the guise of a thesis. 

Rey drops off the letter and she regrets it the moment it hits the box because what would Cassian think, and what would he do? She can only hope that it’s nothing serious like kick her out of the house, or never talk to her again, because she can’t imagine losing him.

Rey drives home fretting the whole time, and she pulls up and parks on the street, trying to take deep breaths while the car cools down. When she feels like she can talk without crying she heads in, and Rose is already there, curled up on one of the ratty chairs they own next to the window, reading.

Rose looks up at her. “You okay?” she asks, swinging her legs off the chair arm and putting her socked feet on the floor. “You look, um,” Rose’s mouth thins out while she tries to find a nice way to say, “you look like shit”. Rey gives her a moment, feeling her throat closing up again.

“You don’t look okay,” Rose finally lands on, and gets up to pull Rey into a hug. Rey slumps into it, Rose’s smaller frame easy to hold. 

“I did something stupid,” Rey admits. “But I did it out of love, I promise.” 

Rose looks up, blinks at her, and frowns. “Okay, out with it, what happened?”

Rey sets her book bag down, and pulls out the manila file with the letters in it. “I thought you gave those to Mr. Andor,” Rose says.

“I gave him a copy,” Rey says. “This is the other. Rose, I--” Rey swallows around the lump. “I might have mailed the Philippine consulate in New York City and a researcher in Australia to find Bodhi Rook.”

“You what?” Rose asks, her form stiffening. 

“I sent two letters to find Bodhi Rook.”

“And Bodhi Rook is…”

“Cassian’s old lover.”

“Rey!” Rose looks mortified. “He’s a sweet old man, and you just ran his trust over with your… fiddling.”

Rey scoffs. “He’s like, 50.”

“Not the point!”

“It’s not like I betrayed him!” Rey says.

“It’s exactly like that. I bet he asked you not to didn’t he?”

“No! He’s not expecting it, that’s the great thing!”

Rose puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head at Rey. “Sometimes I really don’t get you.”

“Rose!” Rey says. “Please don’t be mad. I just, I want him to be happy. You understand that, right?”

Rose sighs. “I’m not mad,” she says calmly. “I just don’t understand why you would do this, that’s all.” 

Rey looks down at the floor. “I just want someone to have a good love story.”

Rose bites her lip. “Sometimes love stories are meant to be sad. It makes all the other love stories happier.” She smiles, and tucks an errant piece of hair behind Rey’s ear.

Rey appreciates that Rose didn’t laugh, or scoff, or even worse, say what that inner voice is always telling her, that there are no good love stories.

The week goes by slowly, the weight of her actions on her like a stone she has to roll up a hill. Rey stops at the convenience store on Friday afternoon and picks up a six pack of beer. Nothing fancy, just PBR, but the idea is that Cassian would like it more than some flowers or candle. He’s being a good host. And Rey is ruining that. 

Rey sees her reflection in the glass door, holding onto the six pack. Her face is warped and frowning. She walks up to the counter and pays for the beer, and decides she’s not going to tell Cassian what she did. 

Nothing is going to come of it anyway. It’s a long shot, an inconceivable idea that Bodhi Rook is still out there in the world. That he wants to respond. 

Rey gets back to the house just as the sun goes down, and bypasses her front door to take the back stairs straight to Cassian’s apartment. She knocks, and the door is almost immediately cracked open, a slightly familiar face behind it.

“Hi, I’m Poe,” he says, reaching out a hand for Rey to shake. 

“Rey…” Rey says. “Do you know each other?”

He smiles, and it lights up his face. “Cassian’s my uncle. He told me that he was telling you some war stories, and I wanted to get more of the family history.” He waves her in. 

Rey lifts the six pack and Poe’s eyes widen. “You brought beer too? Bless you, new best friend.”

Rey laughs and shucks off her coat onto the pegs next to the door while Poe stashes the beer in the fridge, popping off three for them to drink. 

She takes one from him and walks into the living room, Cassian hunched over the record player, fiddling with the needle. 

“Getting in the mood?” Rey asks. 

Cassian turns at her voice. “Something like that. Set the background, maybe.”

“A real experience.”

“Yes,” Cassian says absent mindedly, and the strains of Frank Sinatra’s crooning begins. He goes and sits at his usual chair, a beer set down by his elbow by Poe. A rosary lies on the table, wooden except for the bead closest to the cross. There, a gold pearl, shiny and a little warped lies, and Rey stares at it for a minute, willing it to explain itself. 

“Did you get the chance to listen to any music while you were over there? Like, USO tours, or dance halls, or anything?” Poe asks, snapping his beer open and sitting down on the couch. Rey sits next to him, and takes a sip of her drink, thinking that that would be a good question to ask, if she had any real motive behind hearing these stories. At least Poe has the reason of family history. Rey just has flaming curiosity.

“There was small place in town the boys would go to sometimes, dance with the local girls. Never saw any of the USO tours. It was too dangerous for entertainment like that.” He shrugs, and rubs his beard. “I would dance with Jyn Erso, one of the WAACs, sometimes.” 

“She was a friend?” Poe asks.

“Yes, very much so. Would you like to hear about her?”

“Wait!” Rey says. “I’m sure that Ms. Erso is wonderful, but I’d really like to hear more about Bodhi.”

“Yeah,” Poe says. “Don’t try to sneak out of it, Uncle Cassian.”

Cassian rolls his eyes. 


	3. Chapter 3

1944

Manila, Philippines

  
  


Cassian stands up straight and waits for the bugle call. The sun has already set and there’s some hope of going and seeing the local girls soon. Cassian, however, wants to stay in his bunk and read. The commander finishes inspection and tells them to do whatever. Cassian watches as everyone runs into town, off base, whatever. Cassian waits for the quiet to overcome the noise of the base, and then walks back to the bunks. He runs into Sergeant Kay, who he salutes, and Kay stops him. “Captain Andor,” he says, crisp and insanely tall.   
  
“Sir,” Cassian says, starting to stand at attention. Kay stops him.   
  
“I was curious about something regarding your culture,” he says. He raises an eyebrow, and gestures his head towards the barracks.   
  
Cassian waits for Kay to start ahead, but Kay stops him again. “You are not my inferior directly,” Kay says. “I need you to recognize that what I am asking you is strictly off the record. As a friend.”  
  
Cassian blinks. “A friend?” he asks.   
  
“Yes, these are trying times. Heaven only knows when we go home again. It would behoove us to befriend each other.”  
  
Cassian smiles. “I’m glad you thought about it from all the angles.”   
  
Kay merely blinks at him. “What does the number 41 signify?”   
  
Cassian frowns. “It’s um, unfit for service,” he says uncomfortable. Forty one, as in the drag queen ball at the turn of the century in Mexico. Forty one gay men arrested and sent to camps because they danced with one another.   
  
“They were referring to a book you brought with you?”   
  
Cassian’s eyebrows raise in surprise and relief. “Salvador Novo,” he says. “He’s gay. Forty one is slang for gay.”  
  
“4-F”  
  
“Unfit for service,” Cassian says again, knowing a few people that were turned down for answering the question ‘do you like girls’ wrong. “Good poet though, funny.”  
  
Kay nods. “Now I must ask that you accompany me to town.”  
  
Cassian rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing in town. I’m not much of a drinker, or a womanizer.”  
  
“Regardless, you need to get out. Erso and I are going to see the local color.”  
  
Cassian pauses at this. He could try to find Bodhi. Bodhi who looked like a dream, coming out of the ocean last night. Handed him an oyster, and found a pearl. Bodhi said he had a shanty in town. And that he’d see Cassian around.   
  
Cassian could go to the barracks and read Novo for the second time. Or he could have the chance to see Bodhi. And the chance to see Bodhi outweighs any fear he might have, so he nods, and follows Kay to the outside base. He still misses his book, but he’ll learn to live. He follows Kay out to the outside and there is Jyn Erso, the WAAC waiting for them. Cassian briefly wonders if Kay and Jyn have anything going on.   
  
The village is looking okay. There’s still the stench of rotted flesh, of bodies that come back to shore because of the currents, or just the thousands of Japanese that refused to give up the island and the camp they held there. Cassian saw the men they sent home, the ones who survived the death march. He threw up, and it wasn’t for the first time. The first time was when the American next to him on the sands got blasted away by the planes overhead. He couldn’t find anything left of him, and Cassian was wrecked. There’s something different about flying. The chance of death was so much higher, you were flying around in a giant target, swooping around the enemy in a tin can, and pushing the blood that spilled in iced balls out the crack of the plane because you wouldn’t have to clean it up later.   
  
The damage was the same, but your friends flying with you were gone in an instant, and you lack the closure. There was no closure when it came to losing someone, and the consolation is a pat on the back and a frown, the minister reading off the name of a friend lost the next week, and each Sunday the damn list seems longer and longer.   
  
Cassian joined the army because that was the way out from his house. But now, he wishes more than ever he was home.   
  
Jyn takes him by the arm, and startles him out of his dark thoughts. He smiles at her, feeling wan. Kay squeezes his shoulder roughly and lets go.   
  
They walk down muddy streets and wave, the market finally coming back to what it was, and Cassian can’t help but search for Bodhi, the man who seemed like a vision to Cassian. Who flirted with him, there’s no other way to say it. Handed him an oyster with a wink, knowing the smell and the texture was as close as it gets to cum.   
  
Cassian feels his face heat up, and he shrugs it off, clearing his throat. The stench of fish overtakes him, and he’s only been on this island for four months, but it feels like a lifetime since he’s had a real meal. He walks up to a merchant with stunning blue eyes that seem glazed over, and points to the fish, then holds up three fingers. The merchant, a Chinese man, Cassian thinks, tilts his head, and calls out a name. “Baze!” he says. Which is when a larger man comes out from behind a curtain. He looks between Cassian and the first merchant, and then says, “What do you need?”

 

“Three fish, please.”

  
“You have American currency?”   
  
“That’s all they pay me in,” Cassian says.    
  
Baze gives him a scrutinizing look. “Three dollars.”    
  
Jyn coughs while Kay can be heard that it’s highway robbery, but Cassian doesn’t have a family at home, so there’s no where to send it to. Besides, he wants the fish. He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and peels off a single bill to hand to the merchant, Baze. The other one wraps the fish up in what Cassian hopes is yesterday’s paper, but he can’t be too picky.    
  
“Who have I had the pleasure of doing business with?” the first merchant asks, while Baze dips back behind the curtain to stow away the money.   
  
“Captain Andor,” Cassian says, holding out a hand to shake. He expects the hand to clasp his own, but instead the man smiles. Cassian, watching Chirrut grab onto the wrapped fish, and turning, almost ear first to the sound of Cassian’s voice, he realizes that Chirrut is blind. Cassian drops his hand, feeling stupid.   
  
“You met our Bodhi,” he says, and Cassian’s eyes widen. He knows Bodhi. Bodhi wasn’t a dream, and Bodhi talked about him.    
  
“You know Bodhi?” he says, voice like gravel for the moment, uncertain and shaken. He wants to ask where he is, if he can see him, but stays silent.    
  
“Yes, like a son to me,” the merchant says, before gesturing to himself. “I’m Chirrut.”    
  
“Hello Chirrut. Thank you for the fish.”   
  
Chirrut smiles, kind, beckons him in closer. “Bodhi is on the west docks on our boat,” he says, like it’s a secret.   
  
Cassian feels his heart swell, his chest too small for such a thing. But he nods, and thanks Chirrut.    
  
“I can’t believe you paid that man three dollars!” Kay says with perfect British impunity in full hearing range of Chirrut.    
  
“That’s overpriced,” Jyn chimes in unnecessarily.    
  
“I know,” Cassian says, tucking the fish close to his chest. “Kay where are the west docks?”   
  
Kay looks at him, unblinking. “That way,” he says, and points down the road where a swarm of seabirds gather over a pile of unguarded flesh. “Why?”   
  
“I met someone yesterday, Chirrut knows him,” Cassian explains as carefully as he can. “He’s there. I figured since I’ve got all this fish, might as well share,” he says.    
  
Kay doesn’t say anything at this, but leads the way down the street towards the docks. The moon has already risen, and the sun has just begun its descent. Cassian does his best to not look like he’s chomping at the bit, like he can’t wait to see Bodhi again, but by the side eye that Jyn is giving him, he’s probably not being that convincing.    
  
The west docks come in view, the South China Seas bursting with color and light, the fragments of the sea reflecting the sun, winking. There’s a lot of junks at the west dock, and Cassian wishes he had looked more closely at the boat, but he was so entranced by Bodhi, by his shape and beauty.    
  
Cassian has been attracted to men before. This is not the first time. There was a boy at his school, who was bright, and smart, and playful, with nervous hands, and Cassian felt a connection. He did nothing. He knew it was wrong. Of course it was. All day on Sundays he’d go to mass, and he’d stand and sit and kneel and cross himself but even that wasn’t enough to stop eyeing men. To notice their arms, their strong shoulders. It simply wasn’t done. He’d light a candle for a prayer, waiting for the moment that the flash of flame would touch the wick and set Cassian free. Nothing. He’d never confessed to a priest, either. Why would he? Surely the priest spoke against him, and the sin of his mind, even if it was confidential, between the priest and God, who was God in Mexico? Cassian doesn’t dare think that God has forsaken him, but sometimes he wonders why he is built in such a way.    
  
He wonders what his mother would say. Knows the tears in her eyes, knows the heartache she would feel, because that’s how Cassian feels. He’s meant to be alone. It hurts him, hurts the part of him that not all stone, the deepest heart of him. Bodhi is a temptation, a vision. Cassian fights the urge to light another candle. No prayer can help him now.   
  
“Hello,” he says, as he walks up behind Bodhi on the docks.    
  
Bodhi’s body turns, twists, to look up, squinting at Cassian. For the few seconds of being a stranger, Bodhi’s face was hard, unkind.   
  
Cassian almost takes a step back but then Bodhi smiles. Bodhi stands up fluidly, and grasps Cassian by the shoulder, shaking him a little. “Captain Andor!” he says.    
  
Cassian ducks his head, and waves back to where Kay and Erso are standing. “I brought friends, and bought some fish from one of yours,” he says, shrugging. It moves the package under his arm a little. It crinkles.   
  
“You met Chirrut and Baze,” Bodhi says, a smile on his lips.    
  
“Yes, they made me pay an exorbitant amount for the fish. Would you like some?”   
  
Bodhi looks back at Kay and Erso. “Your friends are coming too?”   
  
“He insisted,” Kay lies.   
  
“I can’t say no, can i?” Bodhi says, even though he knows perfectly well that he can.   
  
Cassian can feel a smile pull at his lips, so he bites one down, something that catches Bodhi’s eye. Bodhi’s eyes seem darker than usual, but Cassian doesn’t know the exact color of Bodhi’s eyes yet. He doesn’t know Bodhi. But Cassian knows the slow drag of Bodhi’s gaze from Cassian’s bitten lips to his eyes; all Cassian cares to know.    
  
Cassian takes a deep breath, and leads the way back to a clearing on a beach near the base where the troops don’t usually go. Where Cassian met Bodhi. It’s a hike, but Kay and Jyn and Bodhi and he talk pleasantly, and Kay and Jyn don’t mention the British accent that Bodhi has, or that he speaks fluent English. They are all making assumptions.    
  
Bodhi starts the fire for them, but only after he laughs at Kay’s fumbling attempt.    
  
“It’s different on sand,” Bodhi gently explains, and sets the small campfire up. Jyn has run back to the base for a tin plate she steals, and they roast fish over the fire before ripping into hot flesh with bare fingers.    
  
“I was not a scout,” Kay says huffily.    
  
“Neither was I,” Bodhi says. “But I learned.”   
  
Kay says nothing at this, but he looks like he’s straining not to say something snippy. He sighs and slumps on the sand, carefully peeling meat from bones and sucking it.   
  
“The ocean is beautiful,” Jyn says with a sigh. “I wish my father could see it.”    
  
Bodhi looks back over the sea and blinks back at her but says nothing. He hangs his head.    
  
“Tell me about Mexico, Cassian,” Bodhi says softly, and Cassian is helpless to comply.    
  
“It is home,” he says. After a pause, he says, “There is a painting I love at home,” and Bodhi’s interest is peaked, because he looks up, and his eyes have the light in them that they lost at the mention of Jyn’s father. It makes Cassian wonder, of course it does, but he doesn’t ask. Who is he to demand Bodhi’s story? This war is hell, and while it’s painfully obvious that Bodhi is far from home, Cassian is far from home too.   
  
“What painting?” Bodhi asks.    
  
“It is by a local artist, Frida Kahlo?” Bodhi doesn’t look like he recognizes the name, so Cassian continues. “It’s called Self Portrait with Bonito. Bonito is a bird.”    
  
“What kind of bird?”   
  
“A parakeet.”   
  
“You’re fond of birds?” Bodhi asks.    
  
“Not particularly. I mean, I’m fond of what they symbolize.”   
  
“I’m a bird, Bodhi Rook.”   
  
“You don’t seem like a rook,” Cassian says. Bodhi looks at the fire and frowns. There’s a heavy weight, so Cassian continues in the name of levity, in hopes of returning a smile to Bodhi’s face. “The painting is in the naive, or simplistic, style very close to the other art of my country. She’s dressed in mourning clothes, and the bird had died too, one of her pets.”    
  
“A painting of death,” Bodhi says.    
  
“It’s a painting that explores that, yes.”   
  
“Why do you love it then?”   
  
“It’s a part of my home,” Cassian says, trying to explain. “It’s like saying that death can come, but those left can still thrive.” He shrugs. “It’s perhaps not academic, but it’s striking to me. All the black and then green and blue. It’s a beautiful piece. The artist is one of my favorites.” Cassian doesn’t mention that Kahlo has had an affair with a woman. Just that he likes her works.    
  
“Tell me more about your home.”    
  
“There’s a poet,” Cassian says. “Novo.” He clears his throat. “He’s queer.”   
  
Bodhi stiffens a bit. “Oh?”   
  
“Brazenly so.”   
  
“That’s okay in your country?” Bodhi asks.   
  
Cassian shakes his head. “It’s okay for celebrities, for artists. They entertain, it’s a game, almost.”   
  
Bodhi looks at him, serious. “It’s a death sentence where I am from.”   
  
“Would you like to hear one? A poem?”   
  
Bodhi smiles. “Alright.”   
  
“I think, in these hours, of you, my love,   
burning as I do in merciless insomnia;   
wanting your eyes, seeking the curve of your hip,   
I feel the promises impressed by your lips.   
I repeat the ringing syllables of your name,   
hear the martial accent of your step;   
I open my chest, I bare my heart—this   
weepy embrace is but lying art.   
My bed is languid and lugubrious,   
for you, sun of my craving, angel of kisses,   
are gone, and I am alone and delirious.   
I look at life with mortal rue;   
all this, my lord, is due to you,   
for it’s a week since I have screwed.”   
  
Bodhi barks out a laugh.    
  
Cassian smiles.    
  
Jyn and Kay stand up. “Time to go back to base, I believe,” Kay says. “Cassian, are you coming with us?”   
  
Cassian looks at Bodhi, and then to Kay. “No, I think I’ll watch the sunrise,” he says.    
  
Kay nods, and Jyn smiles. “Hope you can stand on your feet for the morning drills, soldier,” she says teasingly but not without a hint of disapproval.    
  
“I’ll be alright,” Cassian says.    
  
They leave, and Cassian turns back to Bodhi, to see the light of the fire play upon his skin.    
  
They talk until the rosy fingered dawn comes up, until Cassian knows he should be back at base. Cassian gets up and brushes sand off of him, and offers a hand to Bodhi, who takes it and pulls himself up. Bodhi slaps Cassian’s back in camaraderie, and Cassian is disappointed for a minute. Bodhi pauses, lets his hand slide down Cassian’s arm, and for a brief moment their fingers tangle, and the spark of that warmth slides into Cassian’s body.    
  
Cassian holds onto that feeling all day while he can, focuses on his fingers, on Bodhi’s touch.    
  



	4. Chapter 4

1977

Binghamton, New York

 

“Do you miss Mexico?” Poe asks, looking somber.

 

“I miss home,” Cassian says, and Rey and Poe look at each other and know that he’s not talking about a country.

 

The next week flies by and Rey forgets all about sending letters across the globe, and somehow her cheerful demeanor brightens up Rose as well. Rose comes home Saturday evening, records in her arms. “These were some of the ones my mom and dad would listen to during the war. I thought you and Cassian might enjoy them.”

 

“Thanks,” Rey says, gripping onto the records. “Why don’t you come join us?” she asks. “Cassian won’t mind, and I think he likes an audience.” Rey knows that the last thing Cassian ever wants is an audience. Rey just wants Rose to come with her.

 

“Are you sure?” she asks, the note of hesitation telling Rey that Rose just needs a little more assurance.

 

“I’m sure,” Rey says. She puts the records propped up next to the door so they won’t forget tomorrow. 

 

Saturday passes and Sunday comes as easy as anything. 

 

The girls go up the stairs with records in tow, (Rey almost forgets, but Rose reminds her) and knock on Cassian’s door, the wind blowing through their clothes. Cassian answers and shoos them inside quickly on account of the weather.

 

Cassian looks delighted that Rose is there, and smiles at the offered records. “My parents lent them to me when I told them what you two were doing,” she explains to Cassian, as he puts a record on. 

 

“These are good,” Cassian says, smiling. “Although Dean was a little later for me, I didn’t get to hear much of him in Mexico.” He holds up a Dean Martin album.

 

“Oh I threw that one in for dancing,” Rose says. Cassian looks at her with wide eyes. 

 

“Well, why didn’t you say so, let’s dance.” He stops the current record, and puts the Dean Martin one on, and Rose rises up on her tiptoes and jiggles in excitement. 

 

Cassian turns to Rose and holds his hands up in a classic leading pose, and Rose steps in, and they waltz around the living room, occasionally bumping into furniture and laughing.

 

Rey watches and her heart swells with love. Here in this house she’s found a family, found someone to give her heart to. Cassian sees the look on her face, and he blinks, tilts his head at her before finally giving a look of understanding. Rey feels open and flayed, exposed to the elements.

 

Cassian twirls Rose out and back in, and on the return, steps on Cassian’s toe. 

 

“Sorry!” she gasps. “Are you okay?”

 

Cassian waves it off. “Here, Rey can take my place, she’s not as old and slow moving as I am.” 

 

Rey’s eyes widen, and before she can glare at Cassian’s obvious and clumsy move, Rose turns to face her and makes an adorable pouting face.

 

Rey is doomed.

 

“Please?” Rose asks, doing her tiptoe dance again, and Rey smiles and gets up. 

 

“I don’t know the waltz, I’m afraid. Or any other dances,” she admits.

 

“That’s okay,” Rose says. “We can just sway. I can teach you later,” she promises, and takes Rey’s hand in hers, pulling her closer. 

 

Rey feels like her heart is going ninety miles an hour, revving up and burning down the road.

 

Rose links her arms around Rey’s waist, and Rey, feeling somehow light and wooden at the same time, puts her hands on Rose’s shoulders, and Rose chuckles. “Closer,” she chides. Rose grips Rey’s waist and pulls her in, Rey’s arms sliding further around Rose’s neck, her fingers loosely clasped together. She pulls in a shaky breath and smiles. 

 

Dean croons to them, and Rey shoots surprised looks over Rose’s head. Cassian smiles, sitting back in his worn chair, picking up the rosary Rey spied on her previous visit, rubbing the uneven pearl between his thumb and finger. 

 

Rey can feel herself shaking, and she tries to will her body to be still, but it doesn’t work. When Rose looks up at her, curious, Rey shrugs. “I’m just cold, that’s all,” she says. 

 

“Oh!” Rose says, and steps back to catch Rey’s hands in her own, blowing hot air on them, her brown eyes looking up at Rey through thick lashes.

 

Rey is frozen in movement now, unable to say anything, only feeling Rose’s hot breath on her fingers. 

 

Dean Martin’s orchestra swells to a close, and there’s the soft pop and hiss of the song fading out on the record. Rose releases Rey’s hands and looks away, Rey stunned into silence. Rey clears her throat. “I’ll make us some tea,” she says, and walks to the kitchen to mess with the kettle and cups, the bags of tea in wax boxes. 

 

She pours water into the kettle straight from the tap and tries to steady her breathing. She’s not thinking with a clear mind. That wasn’t a moment shared between Rose and herself. She’s setting the cups on the tray when she finally tunes in to Rose and what she’s saying.

 

“Did you dance any in the war?” Rose asks, unknowingly repeating last week’s inquiry. 

 

Cassian huffs a laugh. 

 

Rey leans to look out the kitchen into the living room, sees Cassian and Rose dancing again. The kettle whistles over Cassian’s reply, and Rey pours hot water into three waiting cups. 

 

“Can you tell me?” Rose asks.

 

“I will tell you about my last dance,” Cassian says. 

  
  
  
  


1944

Manila, Philippines

 

“The 201st is going home!” There’s a raucous cheer that rises after that, men jumping on each other and yelling, and Cassian can’t help but join in. Home! It’s a distant land and time, and Cassian can hardly believe he’s going back. Can hardly think on it, the church in the main square, the lights of Christmas time, the march of time in a dry and hot place.    
  
Then, as always, his thoughts turn to Bodhi. In his way, Bodhi is home too. Like a safe place for Cassian to be, the port far from the land that heart pulled into. Cassian feels adrift suddenly. Mexico is home, but what is it without Bodhi? It is a place, and not a refuge, not a shelter.    
  
Cassian sighs and smiles. He might be far from Mexico, but he wasn’t far from home. The base is filled with cheer and dancing and someone finds a bottle of whiskey (probably Solo) and the party really gets started then. The sun goes down just as it always does, and Cassian waits until the last of the pink is gone from the sky to dash out. Orders are orders, which means they’re shipping out tomorrow morning, boarding the boat back to Texas, and from Texas to Mexico City. It’s a couple days journey, but Cassian can’t have it happen without seeing Bodhi one last time. He runs to the docks first, the market being closed, and he sees Bodhi lugging something around, moonlight rising and shining down on them. It makes Bodhi look like an ancient god.    
  
“Bodhi,” Cassian breathes, and Bodhi sets his crate on the junk and turns to see Cassian. He smiles.    
  
“What are you doing here?” he asks. “Why aren’t you waiting at the beach?”   
  
“I’m shipping out tomorrow,” Cassian says, and Bodhi sobers immediately.    
  
“You’re leaving,” he states.    
  
“I wanted, I-” Cassian is a little tipsy, but the word goodbye won’t leave his lips. He nevers wants to be away from Bodhi. “I wanted to see you,” he finally lands on.   
  
Bodhi nods knowingly, and brushes past him. “Come with me,” he whispers as he walks past and Cassian is helpless but to follow.    
  
Cassian winds through the muddy streets of Manila on Bodhi’s trail, and Bodhi ducks into one of the camp shantys, empty now, and Cassian spies a radio on the rickety table. He clicks it on, hoping against hope that it works still, and sure enough the fuzz and pop of the radio is on, and it may be Tokyo Rose time, but that’s never deterred Cassian before. Bodhi turns it up a little. The music is still terribly upbeat for the occasion, the brass of Dorsey’s trumpet pn “I’ll Be Seeing You” bright, even though the song is too perfect.    
  
“Cassian,” Bodhi says, standing too close to Cassian, just as he always does. Cassian starts to sway, and holds his right hand up, an offer, a suggestion. Bodhi grasps it, no second thought given. 

 

Billie comes on with “Lover Man” and Cassian grasps Bodhi’s hip, warm and solid beneath his hand. He’s bold with this feeling, and glides his hand up the back of Bodhi’s spine, their other hands intertwined. The song becomes nothing in Cassian’s ears, the melody and harmony becoming himself in his bones. The song fades, and Bodhi dares to press his body against Cassian’s own. 

 

Tokyo Rose must be in a hell of a mood too, because it fades right into “You’d Be So Nice to Come Home To”, and Bodhi is breathing unsteadily, and he looks up, his chest hitching against Cassian’s own. Cassian brushes his lips against Bodhi’s forehead, leaning down a little.   
Cassian breathes through his nose and feels along the mountains and valleys of Bodhi’s body, and wishes he could be even closer, wonders how that’s even possible. Tokyo Rose comes on, sudden and brash, her deep voice cutting through the dark. “Well boys,” she says, “time to give up, because the Mexicans are going home. Don’t you wish you we’re going home too? What has your sweetheart been up to? If she’s anything like you then I’d worry. Word has it that the Australians-” Bodhi cuts her off, pulling away and it brings Cassian back into the cold.    
  
Bodhi has tears in his eyes, and Cassian’s throat is stuck with all the words he wants to say, but can’t.    
  
“Tell me again,” Bodhi says. “Tell me about your home, so I’ll know how to find you.”   
  
Cassian can feel his heart sink and soar, a ferris wheel of emotion, up and down and again. Bodhi, his Bodhi, wants to know how to get home, because he can’t find a way now, but he hopes, just as Cassian hopes. Cassian wants to pull Bodhi in again, but doesn’t know if he dares.    
  
“Tell me anything,” Bodhi says, when Cassian has made no reply.    
  
Cassian clears his throat. He can still feel the lump there from the tears he didn’t allow to fall. “I’ll write to you,” Cassian says. “Every damn day, I’ll write to you.”   
  
Bodhi smiles, sad. “I live on a boat,” he says.    
  
“The farmer, down the way, I’ll send you letters there.” Bodhi is shaking his head.    
  
“I won’t get them. I don’t get mail, Cassian. Just,” he reaches out and runs his palm down Cassian’s chest. “I’ll write to you,” Bodhi says.    
  
Cassian nods.    
  
“Cassian,” Bodhi says, and Cassian stops him, because he can see that Bodhi wants to say so much, all of the realities of the situation pressing in on them. Cassian knows the truth, but for the moment, he wants to be lied to.    
  
He grabs onto Bodhi’s arms and feeling helpless, pulls him in to Cassian’s chest once more. “Bodhi,” he says. He can see outside the shanty window, and the sun has begun to rise. Cassian wants to pray that the sun doesn’t rise, but what is one prayer against the universe’s will? “I have to go,” he says needlessly, and kisses Bodhi’s forehead, the long line of his nose, his cheek, and the corner of his mouth, pausing, asking and waiting for more.   
  
Bodhi moves to meet him and Cassian feels his throat catch again, he wants to breathe, to not cry, no man cries, but he can’t help himself at the touch of such soft lips on his, lips he has longed for over a year, lips he may never touch again.   
  
Bodhi steps back, and lets out a jagged sigh. He doesn’t open his eyes, but Cassian can’t help but drink him in.    
  
“Go,” Bodhi says.    
  
Cassian doesn’t argue.

  
  
  


1977

Binghamton, New York

 

Rey doesn’t notice she’s crying until Cassian smiles wearily. “Oh see, I’ve ruined the party.” He looks tired.

 

Rey feels tired too. Emotionally drained, like she’s been crying for days instead of minutes.

 

“Not at all,” Rose says in protest, sniffling away her own tears, “It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Romantic or not, it is done now. He’s gone from my life.” He gets up and hands Rey a handkerchief from his pocket.

 

Rey accepts it, wonderingly. Cassian is the type of man who has a cloth handkerchief. And he’s alone.

 

“But we can find him,” Rey says. “We can figure out where he is,” she starts, but Cassian raises a hand to stop her words. 

 

“No, we can’t,” Cassian says, rising up from his seat. I don’t even know where he is. That’s why the letters are here. He’s gone.” It sounds rehearsed to Rey’s ears, even worse, a mantra said a thousand times over.

 

“But Cassian,” Rey starts again, but Cassian is already at the door.

 

“You’ll excuse me, but I’m tired. If you girls don’t mind,” he says.

 

Rose and Rey get up, and walk back out into the cold to their front door.

 

Rose gives Rey a look, one that says that Rey should stop before it’s too late, but Rose is too nice to say it out loud.

  
  
  
  


Rey goes into the cramped office of the Pipe Dream, the campus paper, where a pile of letters has stacked up. She and Jessika are the only two people really running this thing, and it’s exhausting, but totally worth it.

 

She shuffles through the mail, mostly inter-campus letters, probably all complaints or op-ed pieces that will never see the light of day. But one of them feels different, worn, on her fingers. Curious, she flips to the envelope, and sees the multitude of stamps on it, addressed to her, from the Philippine Consulate in New York City. Rey nearly drops all the other mail in her hurry to open it.

 

It’s one sheet, typed.

 

_ Dear Ms. Rey Kenobi, _

 

_ Yes, there is a Bodhi Rook who lives in the city of Manila. The following is his contact information. _

 

Underneath was the address for Bodhi Rook.

 

This was it. 

 

Not thinking, Rey scrambles to the typewriter in the room and feeds paper into it, and pens out a letter to a man she feels like she’s known for a whole month.

 

_ Dear Mr. Bodhi Rook, _

 

_ You don’t know me, but I’m Rey Kenobi. I know someone of your acquaintance, a Mr. Cassian Andor. Do you remember him? He’s my friend and neighbor. I work at the local university’s library and we received his letters to you. Did you get any of his letters? He remembers you, Mr. Rook, and I hope that someday I can have someone talk about me in the way that he talks about you. _

 

_ I think that it’s the most powerful thing, to remember someone like they’re your home. Cassian often has me up for dinner, or drinks, and he’ll tell me about the war. He’ll tell me about you. I know that in the past you loved him, and I want to know if you love him still.  _

 

_ I love someone like him, and I wish there could be a happy ending for us. I wish there could be a happy ending for you. _

 

_ Please Respond, _

 

_ Rey Kenobi _

 

Rey folds the piece of paper and crams it into the closest empty envelope and addresses it out to Bodhi Rook. 

 

She has to wait for the end of her classes to mail it, but when she does, she watches the letter slide down the chute, hissing as it goes. The sound of it hitting the other mail in the bin is satisfying.

 

She can’t wait to tell Rose.


	5. Chapter 5

Rey goes home and makes dinner, rice and beans and seasoning, and waits for Rose to come home.

Rose does, a smear of grease on her face, a look of contentment around her. 

“Welcome home,” Rey says, turning towards her.

Rose smiles. “I gotta clean up, but I’ll come eat after,” she replies. 

“Okay!” Rey says, and watches as Rose walks into her own room. Rey thinks over the letter, and hopes that the mail will get there quickly as much as she paid for it to go. She plates up the food and starts digging into hers, as she goes and sits in front of the small tv.

Rey is glad it’s Monday, wants to watch CHiPs in peace. 

Rose comes out of her room, freshly dressed in pajamas, hair still wet. “What’s for dinner?” she asks, walking into the kitchen. 

“Rice and beans!” Rey shouts.

There’s a few clanking noises and then Rose walks into the living room. She wrinkles her nose at the tv. “CHiPs? Again?”

“It’s a good show,” Rey insists.

“It’s so inaccurate!”

“How would you know?” Rey teases. 

“I’ve seen beat cops, and their clothes aren’t that tight,” Rose says, taking a bite of food.

“Rose, I’ve got to tell you something,” Rey says, all excitement.

“What?” Rose asks, brows raised.

“I found Bodhi Rook, and he’s alive, and I sent him a letter.”

Rose is silent. She puts her food down. “You did what?” she asks.

“I sent Bodhi Rook a letter.”

“Rey,” Rose groans, “how could you?” Rose looks at her with sad eyes, looking like she might cry at any second.

“I wanted to help!” Rey says, feeling untethered and hurt.

“He didn’t want help!” Rose says. “Cassian doesn’t want you to meddle in his love life!” She stands up, tears in her eyes. “Why can’t you just let someone mourn in peace?”

“I want him to be happy!” Rey says. “You saw how sad he was the other night!”

“That’s his choice, Rey,” Rose says, wiping a tear from her eye with the back of her hand. “He didn’t ask you to do this. You could have stopped it, but you didn’t. And now you’ve gone too far. You can’t make people be what you want them to be.” Rose goes to her room without her dinner and slams the door.

Rey is devastated. Rose, sweet Rose, was right. Rey was always pushing people into things they didn’t want, all because she thought better. And Rose thought that Rey was trying to make Cassian someone he wasn’t. It cuts Rey to the core, because it’s true.

Rey wants to be Cassian.

She wants Cassian to be her. She wants to change the choices he’s made so that she can have a sense of peace when it comes to her own life. If it works out for Cassian, it’s going to work for her. She was using him.

Rey feels something wet on her cheek, feels her throat close up. She’s going to go to her room, pull out some paper, and make things right.

The first letter of apology that she writes is to Bodhi. _It’s none of my business_ , she says, _I’m so sorry_ , she writes three times. 

The second letter of apology that she writes is to Rose. _I didn’t mean it_ , she says. _I was using Cassian because I’ve wanted what he could have: a forever. And he doesn’t want that, I just couldn’t see it_.

The third is to Cassian. It’s the hardest one to write out. _I’m so so sorry_ , she writes over and over. _I was using you. I wanted to be you, to have what you have. And I’ve ruined it, and anything that could have been us. Please forgive me_.

Rey mails the first letter, slides the second under Rose’s door, and tucks the third inbetween the handle and the frame of Cassian’s front door. She stands at his door for another minute, wishing he would open up and let her tell him everything and he’d make her tea and give a lecture and forgiveness.

Instead Rey cries into her pillow that night.

The next month crawls by, Rose gone for Christmas, the campus empty of students until January. Rey doesn’t want to talk to anyone about anything. She spends her days in the library and her nights in bed. She’s moved the tv into her room while Rose is gone so she can mope better.

Rose had forgiven her, saying that she needed time, but she’d call from New York City. And she does, chatting about her myriad of relatives and so on before citing long distance calls and hanging up.

Rey misses her. 

Cassian, she has not seen or heard of since her letter. There’s no invitation to Christmas dinner, and no extra cars in the driveway, although Cassian’s will come and go. The one time she saw him was in the driveway, and he didn’t even look at her. It wasn’t even a deliberate ignorance of her being there. It was cold fury of her being cut off from him.

Rey cries all over again that day.

January rolls in and Rose comes back and gives her a hug, long and hard. “I missed you,” Rose says, and Rey almost sobs in relief. 

“Where’d the tv go?” Rose asks after releasing Rey.

Rey explains what her month has been like, and Rose frowns in empathy. “Come on,” Rose says, holding Rey’s hand and putting her heart back together. “Let’s make pasta and watch terrible tv in your room.”

Rey smiles tremulously, and lets herself be pulled by Rose into the kitchen. 

 

1978

Binghamton, New York

The office of Pipe Dream looks dank and miserable, a fitting space for her mood, Rey thinks. She sighs and slumps in one of the plastic chairs. 

Jessika comes in and thwaps some mail in front of her. “Mail call,” she says apathetically. “One of them feels weird.”

“Weird?”

“Worn,” Jessika says, but is flipping through the rest of the mail, half listening.

Rey, curiously, sifts through the letters, until, a blue and red lined envelope comes into view. Air mail.

It’s well worn from travel, the edges bent, but it’s addressed to her. And the return address?

Bodhi Rook.

“Oh my God,” she gasps.

“What?” Jessika asks, still partly aware.

“He wrote back!” Rey says, scrambling to get into her coat. “He wrote back!”

“Who wrote back? Rey, where are you going?”

“Human interest!” Rey shouts, grabbing her bag. “I gotta,” she waves the envelope around. “I have to deliver this!”

“But Rey!” Jessika shouts, too late, because Rey is already running down the hallway to dash up the stairs. There’s no time for the elevator. 

She wills the truck into turning over in the cold, and doesn’t wait for it to warm up, just slogs and jerks through the snow, the letter to her burning a hole in the seat next to her. 

When she finally pulls up to the house, she barely thinks through slamming the car door shut, and almost busts her ass on the steps up to Cassian’s door. She knocks, shivering from the car not being heated up, and waits for Cassian to answer. 

He pulls the door open a crack and frowns before shutting it and unlocking the chain. “What do you want?” he asks wearily.

“Look, I know, you’re mad, and you’ve every right to be, but this came in today, it’s for you.” She hands over the letter.

Cassian looks at it, and then at her before slowly taking the letter. “It’s addressed to you,” he says, handing it back.

“But it’s from Bodhi!”

Cassian pauses, the envelope in his hand twitching. He flicks it towards himself again, squinting. He sighs, heavy and tired. “Come in,” he says.

“You got this today?” he asks, voice shaky.

Rey nods, shuts the door behind her. 

Cassian looks at the letter. “I can’t read it,” he says after a minute, running fingers along the edges. “Please?” he asks, handing it back to her.

Rey bites her lip and takes the letter in hand. 

She slowly tears open the flap, the sound deafening in the apartment.

“Dear Rey,” she reads outloud, “Thank you for writing me. Yes, I do remember Captain Andor. He was a fine gentleman. It is hard to believe he remembers me, hard to believe that I am writing a letter to his friend and neighbor after all these years. No, I never received any of his letters, although I wish I had. My father Chirrut has died, and it is only Baze and I taking care of the orphans on the island. Please tell Cassian that I do remember him, and that the memories that I have of our moments together are the sweetest oasis to a man who is parched. Don’t worry about sending the letter to me. Although it probably ruffled Cassian’s feathers, I’m grateful he still has feathers to ruffle, and that he still remembers me. Yours, Bodhi Rook.”

She looks up, to see Cassian facing away from her. He’s fingering the rosary on the stand, thoughtful. “He never got them,” he says, wonderingly. 

“No,” she says, but she’s not sure if Cassian can even hear her, so lost in his own world.

“What time is it?” he asks, and Rey feels like the moment is snapped in two, clarified.

“Two in the afternoon, why?” she asks.

“Then we have time,” he replies, throwing his rosary over his head, going to the bedroom.

Rey hangs back, feeling awkward, as Cassian gets on his hands and knees and reaches under the bed. He drags out a shoe box, old and well worn.

“Time for what?” Rey asks, befuddled.

“To go to the bank and get these cashed,” he says. He pulls out a stack of papers.

“What are those?” 

“War bonds,” he says, and walks out of the room.

“You still have war bonds?”

“Yes, and now I need to buy a plane ticket with them,” he says, pulling on a coat. He looks at her, questioningly. “Are you coming with me or not?” Impatience runs through his voice.

“Yes!” Rey laughs, “of course!”

The drive to the city is interminable, miles and miles of farmland to get through before they hit anything like civilization.

The bank is as agog as Rey was at the bonds, but cashes them, regardless. It’s enough to buy one one way ticket to the Philippines. 

“I don’t remember it costing this much,” Cassian laughs nervously at the gate, running a hand through his hair.

“You were paying through your service to your country, and with your life,” Rey gently reminds him, a thank you. 

Cassian looks at her. “I’m not coming back, not for a while,” he tells her, and he looks so steady and sure.

Rey is happy for him, and tells him so. “Good luck,” she says, giving into the urge and hugging him.

Cassian laughs a little, holding her. “Thank you, Rey.” He pulls her back. “Now it’s time for you to do some meddling in your own life.”

Rey blinks. 

“Rose, Rey,” Cassian says, rolling his eyes. “I mean Rose.”

Rey blushes, stammering, “It’s not...I don’t,” she says.

Cassian laughs. “It’s only obvious to me,” he says. “Please,” he asks, as the gate calls out for passengers, “don’t wait. Don’t follow my path.”

Rey nods. “I promise,” she says, her heart full, her stomach lead.

Rey watches the plane take off from the gate, wishing she was on it. But Cassian was right, she needed to tell Rose, and not let history repeat itself. 

She waits for Rose to get home, sits at the rickety table in the kitchen, and writes a letter out. 

Dear Rose, she writes, and scratches out, and starts over, only to write the same thing each time.

She can read a love letter, but is crap at writing one, apparently.

When Rose gets home, Rey, shaking, hands the letter over.

Rose takes it, and reads.

She pauses for a second, frowning. 

“I-” Rey doesn’t know what to say, how to explain what it means. 

Rose smiles, leans in and presses soft and cool lips to hers. They are slick with cherry chapstick. “I love you too,” she whispers.

The letter falls to the floor: 

_Dear Rose,_

_I love you._

_Love me too?_

_Rey._

 

1978

Manila, Philippines 

Light filters through the window sash, bright and unforgiving. 

Cassian groans, flinging an arm over his eyes, not remembering New York ever being this bright. 

There’s movement next to him, warm flesh against his own, and that’s when he remembers yesterday and the day before.

One long flight to the island and then a treacherous cab ride to the orphanage, and there he was: Bodhi.

Cassian lifts his arm to look at the long line of Bodhi’s back, the soft curve of his hip, bare above the sheets. He rolls over, pressing his body against Bodhi’s. Throwing an arm over his waist.

Bodhi hums inquisitively. “What is it, my love?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Cassian murmurs, kissing Bodhi’s neck and breathing in. “Nothing, my beloved. Just,” he sighs, running a hand up to capture one of Bodhi’s. “Just glad to be home.”


	6. Bibliography

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bibliography of A Wounded Heart

Pakistan LGBT

  * [History](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LGBT_history_in_Pakistan)
  * [Rights](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LGBT_rights_in_Pakistan)



Tokyo Rose (1943-1945)

  * [Propaganda](https://www.history.com/news/how-tokyo-rose-became-wwiis-most-notorious-propagandist)
  * [Video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qf7rPYAczSk)



Chinese Fishermen

  * [Chinese War Heroes](https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/world/china-watch/culture/chinese-war-heroes/)
  * [China and WWII ](https://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/18/opinion/the-worlds-wartime-debt-to-china.html)
  * [Video of Sailing Junk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PJBC6KSCTm8)



[Before Stonewall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-iYuNy8gHY)

[WWII Gays, A Love Letter](https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-38932955)

[A broad history of LGBT Mexico](https://web.archive.org/web/20080424001147/http://www.glbtq.com:80/social-sciences/mexico.html)

[A brief look at the dance of the 41](http://qspirit.net/dance-of-the-41-queers/) (drag ball, 1901)

[Brief look on politics and Mexico homosexuality through history, and the internal homophobia still present today](https://books.google.com/books?id=BTXjgBFtNbwC&pg=PA63&lpg=PA63&dq=mexico+wwii+gay+bar+baths&source=bl&ots=DZfMp-nhOp&sig=fhrHw_rdP8rFK0clNMPVD45yLvM&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjB9Pa69P_WAhVDbiYKHYm8B7IQ6AEIXTAI#v=onepage&q=mexico%20&f=false)

[Gender, Imperialism and Global Exchanges](https://books.google.com/books?id=JEkZBwAAQBAJ&pg=PA135&lpg=PA135&dq=gays+in+mexico+1940s&source=bl&ots=8OTFismZOL&sig=Nos2uq-OfuiZWNBsIwONahzoUpQ&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjg9vC6_v_WAhUF5CYKHaR8CNEQ6AEIYjAI#v=onepage&q=gays%20mexico%201940s&f=false)

[Immigration](http://oxfordre.com/americanhistory/view/10.1093/acrefore/9780199329175.001.0001/acrefore-9780199329175-e-72#acrefore-9780199329175-e-72-div2-3)

 

 


End file.
